Mi Carino - Risky Love

by Sienna Mynx

  “What the hell else could go wrong?” she groaned aloud.

  At the very least, Sam had brought the mail into her office. She picked up the envelopes and flipped through them, pacing before her desk. Marcella thumbed through bills and invitations; she focused on a letter addressed to the gallery. Marcella tossed the others and immediately opened the letter:

  Dear Ms. Garcia,

  We’ve received your request for a meeting with Edward Katchner. At this time he is not entertaining any offers. If this changes in the future we will consider your request again.

  Sincerely,

  The Office of Scientific Archaeological Studies (SAS)

  “No. No. No!” Marcella clenched the letter in her hand.

  “Hi,” Susan said, she strolled in. Marcella paused when she noticed the diamond studs that belonged to her sparkling on her best friend’s lobes. Susan loved to accessorize. The problem was she did most of it in Marcella’s closet.

  “What’s wrong?” Susan asked.

  “Read it!” Marcella forced the letter on her. She put a hand to her forehead, and paced in front of Susan with her nostrils flared. “He doesn’t want to meet? Everything has finally come together and he sends me a form letter from his office? We need this discovery to re-establish our credibility.”

  “Marcella…”

  “Where’s his number dammit.” She hurried over to her Rolodex where she kept her phone numbers. Susan and Garrett chastised her repeatedly to step into the times and get an iPhone or iPad to track these details, but Marcella preferred her paper deck of cards. “A meeting with me is customary. He dismissed us. I thought the man had more depth than this. He’ll probably sell-out to the highest bidder. Damn him. I won’t give up that easily.”

  “Hey! Calm down. The man may not have even been told about your request. We just got to do it more personally.” Susan grabbed her arm. “Are you okay? What’s really got you all worked up today?”

  “Did you read the damn letter?”

  “That’s not what’s bothering you. You’ve been uptight and grumpy all weekend. Now look at you, spitting mad. We knew this would happen. Archaeologists are temperamental.”

  Susan once again proved to be the voice of reason. She couldn’t deny her nerves were frayed.

  “I’ll figure it out, never mind.” She mumbled. Marcella grabbed the back of her office chair and turned it to plop down in the seat.

  “Must be menstrual, this attitude of yours.” Susan said.

  Marcella had to laugh. “You are such a chauvinist.”

  “Realist, honey. I get cramps and I’m munching on candy. You? You get all bitchy. Hormones. Besides, our cycles seem to come on at the same time.”

  “Spare me!” Marcella shook her head.

  “Okay so out with it. Why the sour face? I know I’ve been in and out this weekend, because I met this guy, and he well, he was great until I finally gave him some last night. It was pathetic girl.”

  “I thought we were talking about me,” Marcella frowned.

  Susan snickered. “Oh yeah, what’s your problem?”

  “Remember when you were supposed to go shopping with me and you blew it off for that date? You also stuck me with a bunch of salmon and wine, I had to drink alone since you didn’t show up for movie night.”

  “Oh sweetheart I’m sorry. I forgot all about our movie night. You should have called me girl.”

  “No, something happened.” Marcella leaned forward, picking up her pen. She drummed it over the letter from Katchner. Anger consumed her but she remained unsure as to why. She didn’t know Diego. It pissed her off that their brief encounter had stirred something in her she pretended she didn’t need. The asshole.

  Susan sat on the edge of the desk and crossed her legs. “Talk to Dr. S. What happened? And why am I just hearing it today?”

  “You’ve been out, remember? Besides, I don’t know. It hasn’t been to the front of my mind. Or at least I wasn’t trying to dwell on it I guess.”

  “What! Tell me.”

  Marcella released a burdened sigh. “I met someone. Remember El Jay’s a month ago. The man I bumped into when we were leaving?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “We had lunch and he turned out to be a jerk. A real jerk this one, all charm but no tact. I’m a jerk magnet. So sick of being a jerk magnet.”

  “Marcella, sweetie, I’m confused. I’m your best friend. You’re dating again? You should have told me. Let me screen him.”

  “Not dating. I went on a date. No, technically we just had lunch so not really a date. He was a jerk. Keep up Susan.”

  “Sorry. Was he a cute jerk? I think I remember him being sexy. Yes. I remember him now.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “A cute jerk is a waste and it pisses you off longer than an ugly jerk. So, my guess is from your attitude that he was quite a cute jerk. What did he do? Pass gas at the table? Eat and talk with his mouth open? Yell at the waiter? Kick a kid? No, I got it!” She put her hands out like a movie director picturing the scene. “He talked about himself the entire time. Then he tried to convince you that you were the lucky one to hook up with such a ‘great’ catch?”

  “No. He propositioned me.”

  Susan blinked. “Propositioned you?”

  “Like I was some tramp he picked up off the street. It was disgusting.”

  “Awe, damn. Sorry sweetie.” Susan got up and walked around the desk. Marcella rolled her eyes as she pulled her into her chest, stroking the back of her head. “How dare he wanna knock-the-boots with my poor Marcella. The cad!”

  Marcella laughed, despite herself.

  “Yum. Now can I get in on some of that action?” Sam asked.

  Susan turned and blew Sam a kiss. “You wish honey.”

  “I do.” Sam teased.

  “Alright enough.” Marcella sighed.

  “Hey, you said you had some new pieces you wanted me to bring up from your trunk. Are they fragile?”

  “Yes. They are. I got a vase and two busts from auction last week. Finally brought them down from the condo and put them in the trunk.” Marcella exclaimed. She stood and grabbed her keys. “Come on, I’ll need both your help.” They walked behind her with Sam sharing saucy tales about her new girlfriend, and Susan inquiring about details that were far too intimate. Marcella had to admit her mood was shifting. She was irritated the remainder of the weekend over her failed date, but now she needed to focus. Katchner needed to be persuaded to do his unveiling at the gallery Pushing open the side door to where she parked her car she stopped dead in her tracks. Susan slammed into the back of her.

  “Girl, what the hell is going on? Move.”

  “Oh my God.” Marcella stammered. She stepped out into the alley so Sam and Susan could see what she saw. Marcella arrived at her car and discovered someone had snuck into the alley and covered the hood with rose petals. Thanks to the humid day no wind blew the arrangements. On top of the petals an envelope rested.

  “Well I’ll be damned. Who did this?” Sam asked.

  Marcella didn’t answer. She walked over and plucked the card.

  “Who is it from?” Sam asked her as she removed the small card from the envelope.

  Forgive me,

  --Diego

  Marcella shook her head in disbelief. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s get everything out of my trunk.”

  “Wait a second. Who is all this from?” Susan asked, her face serious.

  “No one.” Marcella dismissed. “We got work to do.”

  “So, are you going to go visit Katchner’s office in Seattle?” Garrett asked, shaking the ice in his scotch and soda. He crossed his legs, kicked his foot, and gave Marcella that questioning stare. She knew that look. Marcella this is your mess! Fix it, before I go into hysteria, darling. Susan looked up at her for an answer. They were meeting in Garrett’s office, and the question hung in the air casting a shadow of doubt over any optimism. What could she do now? Everyone, including Marcella, w
anted to know how she, the young inexperienced Acquisitions Director would turn everything around.

  “I guess I’ll have to meet with him myself. He’s not returning my calls.”

  “Excuse me.” Sam came in carrying two arms of red roses. “Marcella, these are yours, AGAIN.”

  Garrett sat upright. Susan frowned.

  “For me?” Marcella asked taking one for a gentle caress. She pulled the card from the center of the bouquet of flowers.

  “They’re lovely.” Garrett said smiling. “Absolutely!”

  “Are they from Mr. Jerk again?” Susan asked.

  Marcella didn’t answer. She had dismissed the morning delivery and forgotten about it. She read the card. It simply said:

  Give me…

  There was nothing else to the message other than those two words. How strange.

  “Well?” Susan asked.

  Marcella slipped the card in the pocket of her slacks and dropped the flowers on Garrett’s desk. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s get back to work.”

  “What am I supposed to do with the rest?” Sam asked.

  “Throw them away.” Came her curt reply.

  “Not these I'm talking about the other six vases out front.”

  “Six!” Garrett exclaimed.

  “Six?” Susan asked. “Jeez, who is this guy again?”

  Marcella stood there perplexed. She didn’t give him many details about her life. Just that she worked and sold antiquities near the boardwalk. She rolled her eyes realizing the Market Place had only one gallery. “Just um… throw those away too. I guess.”

  “Have you lost your mind? You never throw away roses,” Garrett said, downing the rest of his scotch. He stood. “Let me see these flowers. We can arrange them in the gallery. Free décor, I love it.”

  The two walked out. Marcella returned her gaze to the vase. Susan tapped her on the shoulder. “He wasn’t that big of a jerk was he?”

  Marcella frowned. “Yes he was. A few flowers and a cryptic message don’t change it.”

  “Then why are you smiling?” Susan teased.

  Marcella didn’t realize she was. “Ah, oh, forget it.”

  The next day –

  “Are you okay?” Marcella turned her office chair toward the window. Susan sniffed in the phone. “I’m trying to be. They said it was a mild stroke. She’s up and talking but it’s scaring me.”

  “Do you want me to come down? I can drive and be there in four hours.”

  “No. No. I’m okay. I’ll be back Sunday. I’ll call.”

  “I’m sorry, Susan. She’s in my prayers. I love your mom.”

  “Thanks, Marcella.”

  Replacing the receiver on the cradle Marcella reclined once more and stared out at the city. Traffic rolled past. Among the cars and trucks, parked at the curb was a familiar delivery van. “Oh, no.”

  Marcella rose from her seat in a flash. On her desk were two large vases of roses in full bloom. In the gallery were several others scattered about. An explosion of red petals became the stark scarlet contrast against the white walls and floors, even overpowering the beauty of their most treasured pieces of art. She had plans to have them all carted away today. The place smelled so strongly she kept sneezing. Diego had made his point, but she wasn’t interested. What did he want? How many did she have now? Twelve vases?

  Sam gave it her best shot. She went as far as to threaten the deliveryman to give up Diego’s information. The man swore to them both that he had no idea how to reach the purchaser.

  She went to her office door. Three deliverymen came in carrying roses, they left, and then they returned with more roses. Marcella’s mouth fell open. Garrett walked down the stairs from the upper level of the gallery and froze in horror.

  “Marcella! I’m not running a flower shop in here!”

  She winced with embarrassment. They all stood there stunned as the men left, returned, and left again with more roses. By the time they were done she counted twenty vases in all. Twenty!

  “Oh dear God he’s nuts.” She hurried out of her office. “Wait! Wait… hey you, take these back.”

  “Sorry ma’am, we can’t. Can you sign here please?”

  “Marcella, what the hell is all this?” Garrett asked turning around. “The man is evidently trying to reach you. Call him before he turns my place into some kind of tacky Greek garden.”

  She signed for the delivery and took the card, ripping it out for an explanation. It had a two-word message even stranger than the first. One more.

  “Marcella?”

  “Garrett, please! I can’t make him stop! I don’t know him. Oh never mind!” she huffed in frustration storming back into her office and slamming the door.

  Sam laughed. “Whoever he is, he sure does like red. Give a girl a white rose or something.”

  Garrett threw up his hands and walked away.

  Day Three –

  “This here is a white marble figure of Marie Adelaide de Savoie entitled Huntress.”

  “Doesn’t she look like a barbarian?” The older woman frowned. She ran her fingers over her mink shawl pinned in place by a diamond broach, as she spoke through her nose.

  Marcella smiled. “She’s the Princess of Savoy. She was the mother of King Louis XV and after marriage became the Dauphine of France.”

  “I know of her.” The patron’s husband drawled with eyes sharp and beady, and a nose like that of a beagle. It was inflamed and red from the constant rubbing of his monogrammed handkerchief. “She died of measles in 1712 followed by her husband a week later.” The older man kept sneezing and sniffing. His wife stepped to the statue.

  “Interesting, do you ship overseas? I’d like to see it in my chateau in France.”

  Marcella grimaced. The risk and expense in a delivery was something she’d like to avoid. “Of course it can be arranged.”

  The couple moved on to the next art piece. The door to the front of the gallery opened and a deliveryman in a khaki brown uniform with a green logo on the sleeve stepped in with flowers. She nearly freaked. Flowers were everywhere. She couldn’t give away the vases crammed in her office or in Garrett’s. At first her boss thought her admirer was suave, but now Diego had been labeled ‘that flower guy bastard’. Sam and Garrett had running jokes. They offered a free rose to any person that visited the gallery. Without Susan there to run interference they were working up constant headaches for her today.

  “Please excuse me. Take your time and browse.”

  Marcella put down a mean strut as she marched to the guy. Sam grinned up at her from behind her desk, trying to sound serious. “Look, she doesn’t want them. Leave them outside or something.”

  The man turned with an arm full of white roses. The most beautiful she’d ever seen. They were wrapped in a white cellophane cone, with large full bulbs. “Are you Marcella?”

  “Yes I am.”

  “Sign here please.”

  “Are there more? I don’t want any more. I called your flower shop and told them to stop bringing them.”

  “Huh? No. This is the delivery ma’am. Will you sign for them please?”

  She accepted her gift. She looked back. Garrett chatted up the prospective buyers.

  “Same guy huh?” Sam asked.

  “Cover for me.” She removed the card hurrying to her office, the large white bulbs bounced in their cellophane wrapping. She wanted to read the message, alone. Since their first arrival, everyone hovered to see her reaction, to ask questions she didn’t know the answers to.

  Maybe this time she’d get a bigger clue. She withdrew the little card and it read:

  Chance…

  --Diego

  Marcella walked around her desk and set the flowers down. She then drew back to the top drawer to retrieve the past cards. She laid them all out.

  Forgive me…

  Give me…

  One more…

  Chance…

  --Diego

  Dropping back in her chair she reclined as far back as sh
e could and smiled. “Clever, clever, clever,” she chuckled. Then she shot upright. Plucking the last card, it slipped from her fingers and fell over. There was a phone number scrawled on the back. She stared at it for a second, and then reached for her cellphone that lay on top of the desk.